Knife's Edge
by batmaaan
Summary: Dovahkiin. Stealer of souls. There will come a time in her journey where she is faced with a decision, one that could bring all of Tamriel to its knees.
1. Unfavorable Beginnings

**Chapter One: Unfavorable Beginnings **

The open land of the Whiterun plains made the chilly wind cut ever so deeper, even through the thick armour that covered every inch of skin. Gentle stars winked in the deep blue of the night sky above, illuminated by a crescent silver moon. In the dark the plains appeared more sinister than they did during the day. All manner of predators could be lurking in the shadows, waiting eagerly for an opportunity to strike.

Yet the fear of being jumped by a wolf was dampened by the soft light created by a small blazing torch tacked to the side of a simple farmhouse.

A windmill rotated slowly in the frigid night air. It wasn't even close to Last Seed yet the air still held its usual hint of coldness. Skyrim apparently never seemed to lose its chill, remaining cold enough to snow in some parts all year round. Thankfully a trip to Winterhold or Windhelm had been avoided so far, though one was expected in the coming months as the civil war progressed.

A low growl from her side did nothing to help her frayed nerves. "Quiet, Thaelin. You'll blow our cover." The dog, pelt snow white in colour, glanced up with annoyed dark eyes but did not make another sound. Its tail swept the grass in a rhythmic pattern. Back and forth. Back and forth. She felt her head grow a little heavy as her eyes drooped.

With a hiss she snapped herself back to attention, running a hand through burgundy hair in frustration. If her prey didn't show itself before the sun rises then she'd have to wait a whole day before she could try again – and she did not want to be stuck hiding in the Whiterun plains for another day.

"Dammit," she grumbled. "Thaelin go make a loud noise or something. Draw our prey out so we can get on with our job." Pulling her hood over her head and sliding an arrow onto her bow she watched as her dog – or wolf as he really was – stalked silently up to the door of the farmhouse and began scraping at it, whining in a pitiful way. She bit back an amused snort knowing Thaelin would hear it and seek revenge later in the day.

Thuds sounded from within the farmhouse as well as low, illegible words that both she and Thaelin heard with their keen hearing. He vanished into the shadows cast by the eaves of the farmhouse, she tilted her bow towards the door and inhaled deeply. The poison her arrowhead had been dipped in dripped lazily onto the grass beneath her feet.

Light spilt out as the door opened. Silhouetted in the door frame was her prey. Large shouldered, well-built and rather tall he barely fit in the doorway. "Coulda sworn I heard a damn dog scratchin' at the door."

_Wait till they're outside their house. Don't want to run the risk of being caught by family members while you pilfer the body._ Astrid's firm instructions rung clear in her mind, so she waited, silently begging Thaelin to make another noise.

A loud crash resonated from the far side of the farmhouse and her face broke out into a wide grin of joy. Her wolf knew exactly what to do. "What in the name of Sovngarde was that?" the man spat as he slammed the door roughly behind him, promptly sealing his fate. "If it's another one of them damn guard dogs I'll skin it!"

He took a step towards the shadows but made it no further. The arrow made a perfect arch in the air, imbedding itself in the man's neck with a quiet thud. Clutching at the wound that was now beginning to ooze a crimson substance the man fell to his knees, spluttering as the poison began to flood through his veins.

Only once she was certain the man was incapacitated enough to not attack did she step out of the shadows, tugging at her cowl to make sure it covered her mouth. Thaelin had returned though he remained away from the spluttering Nord. Her hand brushed against the Nord's shoulder and he went rigid, staring up at her with angry eyes.

His attempt to spit an insult was hampered by his inability to make any other noise save for a strangled wheeze. "Accept death graciously. It is not as painful as it could have been," she murmured.

Gray eyes had begun to lose their light, dulling slowly as the poison stretched its deadly tendrils throughout the entirety of his body, killing him with each passing heartbeat. Grasping his hand firmly in her own she pressed her forehead to his and mumbled her native farewell to the dying, "lattasel loria."

When she raised her head the Nord had ceased to breathe. Soft fingers gently closed his eyes so he appeared to be sleeping and removed the arrow from his neck, being careful to avoid the poisoned arrowhead. From her pack she retrieved a slightly wilted Deathbell, placing it on the Nord's stilled chest and positioning his hands over it as if he'd been holding it before he had died.

"Perfect."

"And _what_ do you think you're doing, _assassin_?"

Thaelin's growl did not help the situation she'd suddenly found herself in. Glancing up she realised that she had blundered into a pretty stupid trap. No wonder the skinny Nord that had given her the contract had been quivering in his boots when she'd sidled up to him two days ago. Biting back a curse she switched into a crouching position, ready to flee or fight – whichever was easiest.

Guards dressed in the Whiterun uniform – a cuirass accompanied by a dull orange sash and shield – detached themselves from the darkness and stepped into the dim light. From the farmhouse's now open door stepped Cauis, Commander of Whiterun's guards. "We've been hunting you down for a while now, little miss. Never thought the assassin plaguing Whiterun, Falkreath and Martkarth was a women. Seems like we're all a little surprised tonight," the Commander sneered.

"Would you like me to prove just how capable of an assassin I really am?" she growled.

Two guards propelled themselves forward, grappling with her arms until they were pinned behind her back and rendered completely useless. Forced out of her crouch and onto her knees she felt rather pathetic. How she hadn't seen the guards sneaking up on her whilst she waited for her prey to move she had no idea. Veezara was always going on about how she wasn't observant enough.

Thaelin was nowhere to be seen.

Cauis grabbed her chin, roughly pulling it up so that he looked down into her eyes. "Pretty blue eyes? You really aren't what I was expecting. Call your dog. Can't have the companion of an assassin roaming the plains now, can we?"

"No," she spat, not even flinching when he delivered a heavy punch to her cheek. It throbbed painfully and she knew it would bruise rather nicely.

"I won't ask you again."

Glaring up at him she snarled, "and I won't tell you no again."

A kick to the stomach chased all the air out of her lungs but she refused to show weakness in front of her enemies. Astrid would be proud of her resilience. "Go through her pack," Cauis ordered.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched a guard empty the contents of her pack onto the cobblestone, wincing when a bottle of rather expensive poison hit the ground a little too hard. She knew they'd find nothing that would lead them to the hidden dwelling of the Dark Brotherhood. All that she kept locked away in a chest in the sanctuary, as well as all of her personal belongings and majority of her gold.

She did not make a sound when the Commander snatched a small coin purse from the hands of the guard emptying her pack. There were only a few coins in there, enough to buy her transport back to Falkreath should her horse wander off again. Though the sneer on Cauis's face was enough to make her blood boil as he pocketed the purse.

But when the guard scooped up a fairly new looking letter she let a small sound hiss out from between her lips. _Dammit_. She'd forgotten about that letter. Why couldn't Astrid just have waited till she'd gotten back to the sanctuary before giving her another contract?

"Aye? What's this? Maybe this letter'll give us your name, little miss," Cauis drawled.

Hanging her head in slight defeat she fell into a stony silence knowing that her name would indeed be scrawled in Astrid's neat handwriting at the bottom of the letter.

"Sara. Next contract is located in Riften. Talk to the corrupted priest. Astrid." The Commander laughed harshly before crumpling the letter up into a ball, tossing it over his shoulder without a care as to where it landed. "Sara, aye? Pretty name. How about we see if the name matches a pretty face shall we?"

"Touch me and I'll cut your head off," Sara snapped, leaning as far away from Cauis's hands as she possibly could before the guards pinning her arms pushed her forwards.

His calloused hand gripped the top of her hood and pulled it roughly off, taking a few strands of her hair with it. She winced but raised her head proudly. "What are you?" the Commander mused harshly. "Skins too dark to be Nord but too light to be Bosmer. Ears are pointed like those stupid Elves but your face looks Nord-like. Some halfbreed? Here I was thinking you might be some pretty Nord assassin but you're just a lowlife halfbreed scum."

Her body shook with rage. "Say that again. I dare you," her voice was low and venomous.

"Halfbreed _scum_," Cauis grinned.

A feral cry tore from her lips as she ripped her arms free from the guards pinning them. In the same moment she rolled out of the way of their flailing limbs, whipped a dagger out from its hidden sheath and plunged it into Cauis's side, wiggling it around until she felt it grate against bone.

The Commander howled in pain and grabbed at the dagger but by the time his fumbling hands reached his wound Sara had already torn it from his side. Using her smaller figure she ducked under a terribly aimed punch at her head and allowed the dagger to slip back into Cauis's stomach. As he let out another howl of pain she lifted two fingers to her mouth and whistled loudly.

By now the guards had spurred themselves into action making the situation she'd found herself in all the more dangerous. They had swords and axes and bows while she only had the bloody dagger in her hand plus another one tucked snuggly into her boot.

Sliding under a sword aimed at her throat she kicked out at one of the guards, tripped him and slit his throat before lashing out at another, slicing through the skin of his thigh. An axe whistled past her ear and she felt her heart skip a beat. It was becoming rapidly more dangerous the longer she stayed here. Arms moved on their own, ripping the axe from the hands of the female guard and imbedding it in her back all while she kept an eye out for her useless horse.

Though her whistle had not attracted her horse it had brought Thaelin back from wherever he'd vanished too. The wolf pounced straight into the fight without hesitation, taking the throat of a guard into his mouth within seconds of his arrival.

Sara's wolf might've joined the fight but the noise they were all making was drawing more guards out of the safety of the city. She knew she had to get out of here sooner rather than later but her _damn horse _was nowhere to be seen.

Keen ears picked up the sound of heavy footfalls against the ground and she held back a string of curses aimed at her horse. "About damn time, Arum," she muttered, bringing her arms up to stop a shield from bashing her face in.

Arum trotted into the light, tossing his head as if he was the most important creature in the whole wide world. Sara begged to differ but dashed over to him regardless of her annoyance, swinging herself gracefully into the saddle. Ironically Arum had been stolen from the Whiterun stables a few months back. She wondered if the guards recognised the stolen horse.

Glancing over her shoulder she noticed her discarded pack and – sadly – decided that she didn't really need any of the loot she'd picked up. Whistling to Theandril she waved mockingly to the battered guards, blew a kiss to the bleeding Cauis and kicked her heels sharply into Arum's flanks, turning him towards the path leading to Riverwood.

By the time the guards got Cauis back to the town, retrieved their horses and set out to find her she'd be long gone, making her way peacefully towards Falkreath without a care in the world. Save for dealing with Astrid. _Shit._

Settling into a comfortable position to control Arum's gallop, Sara pondered the possible excuses she could use to get out of one of Astrid's lectures. Last time something like this had happened Nazir had covered for her. Now she figured she'd be on her own. There was no way she was going to tell any of the others about being caught. No way at all. Only a couple of them trusted her as it was, she really didn't want to ruin that trust.

"Could just say I didn't get the letter," she pondered. "Or I that I was just swinging by to pick up some supplies before heading to Riften." She liked that excuse. It sounded tangible and completely normal. In fact she did need to pick up some more poison from Babette. And some more arrows. And maybe another dagger. There were…quite a few things she needed to get.

The sun had risen well into the sky by the time Sara pulled Arum into the sleepy village of Riverwood. The villagers were going about their daily business as if they didn't have a care in the world; working the mill, chatting lightly to each other, cleaning their belongings. It was as if the worries of the outside world could not reach their peaceful village.

Sara, however, knew just how quickly that could change. In a matter of days the civil war could crash into Riverwood and lay waste to it. She cringed at the thought of all these innocent people getting caught up in the chaos of battle. Pulling the cloak she'd left slung over Arum's back tighter around her shoulders she urged him down the main road, the one that cut straight through the village.

Majority of the villagers knew who she was by name. They did not know who she worked for or what she did and she planned on keeping it that way. With her Dark Brotherhood armour concealed beneath a dark spring green cloak, hood and cowl tucked away in a pack attached to the saddle, she looked like a normal traveller. Save for the dried blood staining the left side of her face where a guard had managed to catch her with the end of his sword.

"Morning, Sara. Been a while since you last passed through."

She looked over at the innkeeper of the Sleeping Giant Inn, a cold Breton known as Delphine, who was hanging furs over the banister of the porch. "Had other business that kept me away. How goes the inn?"

"Ha," Delphine scoffed, "business has been slow ever since the civil war started. Not many travellers brave entering Skyrim anymore."

Pulling on Arum's reins Sara halted the dark coloured horse. "Speaking of the war, any soldiers passed through here recently?"

The Breton nodded, "Imperials hauling prisoners to Helgen passed through earlier today. Made a big fuss when they rolled into the village claiming they'd finally bagged Ulfric Stormcloak." She snorted. "Likely story."

"You don't think they've actually got him?" Sara questioned. Silently she cursed the Imperials for choosing today to take prisoners to Helgen. Now she'd have to stray off the road and venture into the wilderness in order to avoid them, thus making her journey back to the sanctuary twice as long than it should be.

"I'll believe them when I see it. But I did not see the Bear of Eastmarch in any of those carriages, not that I paid much attention," Delphine replied smoothly. "Now if I were you I'd be getting out of here rather quickly in case they come back," she offered with a knowing look in her eye.

Sara glanced down to see that her cloak had come undone at the front, sitting open so that her armour could be seen. _Shit, _she cursed and tugged it closed, retying the string in a tighter knot. "See you around," she muttered offhandedly.

Only a few other villagers paused their work to say hello and Sara found that she was glad. The sooner she got out of Riverwood and into the wilderness of Skyrim she'd be safe from any Imperials or Whiterun guards. All she had to do was make it into Falkreath Hold. There the guards from Whiterun had no power over her, for she was no longer in their Hold.

Travelling away from the main roads, through the wild parts of Skyrim had its pros. Skyrim holds a sort of dangerous beauty that is awe-inspiring and so very different from any of the other lands within Tamriel. One could spend an entire lifetime exploring Skyrim but never truly see every hidden part of it. Only creatures with wings, those lucky enough to be blessed with the ability of flight, could come close to witnessing all of Skyrim's cold beauty.

But it also had its cons.

As Sara cleaved the head of a wolf straight from its shoulders she couldn't help but wish she could spend at least _one _day travelling off the main road without being assaulted by every predator known to stalk Skyrim.

By the time the sun perched itself at its highest point in the sky Sara was beyond exhausted. Every muscled ached painfully and her head pounded ferociously. Staying up all of the previous night then not stopping to rest at all the next day was turning out to be a terrible idea. Just staying upright in the saddle was a struggle.

Whenever she began leaning to one side Thaelin would snap at her heels, rapidly pulling her out of the haze of sleep deprivation. Her level of concentration plummeted, as did her already poor observation skills.

Running into a bear or sabrecat now could turn rather deadly and it was for that reason that she set out in search of the main road deciding that she'd probably passed the Imperial convoy by now. They usually moved slowly, especially when they were hauling prisoners with them

"Keep an eye out, Thaelin," she mumbled to the wolf, reaching down to scratch behind his ears, "howl if you see anything dangerous."

The wolf nuzzled her palm before trotting away, tail sweeping gently from side to side. "ArumvI swear to Y'ffre if you don't behave yourself for the rest of the journey I will personally see to it that you are never allowed to be ridden again. You hear me?"

He tossed his head, snorting as a way of expressing his understanding. She ran a hand through his mane and kicked her heels into his flank, urging him into a slow lope. The main road should only be a little way ahead of them, as when she'd pulled Arum into the wilderness she kept it on her left at all times. That was of course only a theory.

Settling into a comfortable position Sara began to drift off again, serenaded by the sounds of nature around her; the wind whispering through the trees, small animals scurrying through the undergrowth, birds swooping from branch to branch. So content with the world around her she missed the quiet howl that sounded from the forest ahead. Lulled into a blissful sense of security she failed to hear the sound of wheels turning against cobblestone or the voices that murmured quietly.

Bursting out of the forest and onto the main road she found herself in the one place she had hoped to never find herself. In the middle of an Imperial convoy with all eyes focused on her and her horse.

"Shit!" she cried narrowly ducking under an arrow that whizzed overhead.

"Get her! She's trying to free the prisoners!" one soldier hollered.

Half of her wanted to scream back that she was just some traveller that had stumbled upon the convey due to sleep deprivation but she figured the Imperials would stab first and ask questions later. Now snapped back awake thanks to a surge of adrenaline she had no choice but to fight her way out of the predicament she'd found herself in.

Ripping off her cloak – that damn thing was difficult to move around in – she saw the fear reflect in the eyes of the soldiers as they recognised the armour she wore. She smirked. Let them witness the power of the Dark Brotherhood firsthand.

Rising into a crouch atop Arum she pulled twin daggers from hidden sheaths and pounced onto the first soldier that got too close, slashing the blades through his neck, spinning on one heel to bury them into the side of another.

Admittedly she thought that there was little chance of her making it out of this fight unscathed, but that couldn't stop her from trying. As an assassin killing was like second nature. She grabbed the wrist of a soldier wielding a steel axe before he could bring it down on her head and used her small figure to flip over him, landing neatly on her feet behind him. Her daggers buried themselves into the back of his head.

Pain sparked from her shoulder where an arrow had shallowly lodged itself. The tables began to turn as the sheer number of soldiers advancing threatened to overwhelm her. She dropped a dagger in favour of reaching up to pull the arrow from her shoulder, hissing as the arrowhead tore through more flesh upon exiting the wound. A fist knocked her to the ground and bruised her cheek but not her ego. There was still a chance she could make it out of this.

A cry of fear and pain mixed with the ferocious growling of a wolf gave her the hope she needed to continue fighting. Thaelin always knew how to make an entrance.

The soldier responsible for the bruise appearing on her cheek found herself pulled into a surprisingly strong grip before her neck was jerked at an odd angle with a loud snap. "Kill the assassin before she can reach the prisoners!"

"You won't be killing me," Sara growled under her breath, scooping up the dagger she'd abandoned and hurling it at the nearest guard. It thudded into his chest and he fell to his knees hands hovering over the metal imbedded in his skin.

Sara smashed her heel into the face of another soldier, using the momentum to swing her other leg around to meet the thinly armoured chest of an enraged Imperial. Her other dagger left her hand in the same moment, seeking refuge in the side of a Nord's skull. "How long," she shouted, "will it take you to realise that I'm not after the prisoners?"

"Why else would you be here, assassin? Just stopping for a friendly chat?" a lady retorted sarcastically. She soon found herself pinned under the assassin's boot, rib cage smashed into tiny shards.

Fighting hand-to-hand was a skill Sara was not all that comfortable with. She needed her daggers which were currently stuck in the bodies of Imperials or her bow which was strapped to Arum's saddle who had, funnily enough, vanished. Spotting the body of the Imperial with one of her daggers protruding from his head she darted over to him, yanking the bloodied blade out.

The hilt of a sword smacked into her back and sent her sprawling across the ground, her jaw connecting roughly with the cobblestone road. Spitting blood from her mouth Sara rolled onto her back just in time to avoid being speared in the gut with the same sword. However during her rather ungraceful meeting with the ground her dagger had been flung from her hand thus leaving her weapon-less in the face of an Imperial sporting not one but two swords.

_Festus warned me not to do this so soon…_

Heat flooded to her gloved hands as she squeezed her eyes shut and forced the Magicka that circulated her body towards her hands. Flames roared to life, flooding towards the Imperial's face long enough to break his concentration and allow Sara to snake her legs around his waist and drag him to the ground beside her. Straddled across his chest she called upon the Magicka once more to burn his face beyond recognition.

Shaky hands reached for the two swords he'd dropped but never made it there. A boot kicked her roughly to the side and pinned her there, painfully digging into her already wounded shoulder. She struggled against the weight pinning her to the ground, earning a fist to the side of the head that left her reeling.

Thaelin's shape swam into focus as he tried desperately to forge a path to his fallen master. "No," Sara gasped. "Run. Find Arum. Go to sanctuary. Now!"

She could see the pain in Thaelin's eyes as he began backing away from the Imperial soldiers, meeting her gaze one last time before pelting away. "How noble," the Imperial whose boot held her against the ground jeered, "sending your dog away so that he doesn't have to watch you die."

"The only one about to die here is you!" Sara snarled and kicked the soldier away, raising her hands to send fire his way.

A cold sensation blossomed from her side morphing into burning pain that chased a choked howl from her body. The cold blade of a sword left her body coated in red blood. It hadn't been thrust in far enough to be fatal but the pain was still enough to paralyse her. Droplets of crimson dripped from the tear in her armour, splashing onto the cold ground beside her.

"Toss her in one of the carriages. She can have the same punishment these Stormcloaks are getting," the soldier ordered harshly. "Bloody assassins thinking they can take on a whole army themselves."

Arms snaked under her armpits, dragging her over to one of the emptier carriages. She cried out a little as she was roughly lifted up and tossed into the carriage, the wound in her stomach spilling more blood.

There was only one though on Sara's mind as she drifted into inky blackness.

_Shit, Astrid's going to be _so _pissed off._


	2. Never Trap an Assassin

**Chapter Two: Never Trap an Assassin**

A wheel slipping into a rut in the road and then bouncing out was what awoke Sara from her rather uncomfortable state of unconsciousness. Sitting on the floor of the cart slumped up against one of the benches she blinked open blue eyes with a groan of pain. Her entire body throbbed, especially the wound in her stomach. The world around her was blurred, fuzzy shapes only just starting to take form. Vaguely she thought she heard the sound of hooves upon the ground but she couldn't be sure if it was real or if she was just hallucinating.

"You're finally awake," a thick voice broke the silence.

Eyes adjusted to the bright light of a new day and Sara blinked away the fuzziness, staring at the speaker through her eyelashes. Matted blonde hair adorned with a small braid at the front, grizzled beard of the same colour, mud and dirt and blood staining his face and arms, a pair of stormy gray eyes that watched curiously, and a tattered uniform sporting the blue sash of the Stormcloak rebellion. A soldier.

"You sound disappointed."

The ragged looking soldier rubbed his wrists together in an uneasy manner. "I'll admit I wouldn't have minded if you'd stayed knocked out all the way to Helgen. Assassins make me nervous."

Sara smirked and shifted her hands only to find them bound together. Looking down she noticed that her gloves had been burned away around the palms of her hand, and her palms were blistered and red. They hurt. "No need to worry yourself," she murmured. "I'm not killing anyone like this."

"Are you a Nord?" the man asked suddenly.

Caution flared immediately within Sara. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"You don't fight like one."

She bristled at his comment unsure as to whether he was insulting her or if he was complimenting her. There were few people in all of Skyrim that had ever seen her truly fight for her life and they were all dead, slain by her hand before they could share the tale. But now one sat before her picking apart the way she fought as if it was some old piece of art. "What's that supposed to mean? Are all Nords supposed to fight like brutes, ungracefully swinging an axe twice their size hoping that it'll cut their opponents heads off?" she scoffed. "Excuse me for being different."

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," he raised his hands in a way that said 'settle down'. "The way you fight is incredible. So brutal but beautiful. You're a very gifted fighter even if you do use your gift to kill other people."

"Isn't that what fighting's all about? Killing other people? You certainly don't seem to have much of a problem with it, or have you forgotten that the Imperial soldiers you've killed have families and lives too?" Sara spat venomously.

The soldier tugged at his binds, looking very uncomfortable. "What were you doing bursting out of the forest straight into the middle of the convoy like that any way?" he attempted to change the subject.

"It was an accident. I had no intention of running into the convoy, in fact I'd thought I'd passed it by the time I steered my horse back towards the main road. You know the rest." She glanced up at the sky searching for the sun to find its position, furrowing her brow when she found it to be lower than it had been before she'd slipped into darkness. "What day is it?"

"Sixth Rain's Hand, I believe. Should've been at Helgen yesterday evening but your little disruption forced the convoy to stop for quite a while."

She snorted, "you're welcome."

"Damn you Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you came along; Empire was nice and lazy, didn't bother itself with petty thievery. If they hadn't of been looking for you I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now." It was only in that moment, when another voice cut into their barbed conversation, did Sara realise that there were two others in the cart.

A thin, reedy looking Nord with pale skin and deep bags under his eyes wearing nothing but thin rags shivered in the cold air. He directed pointed glares at the soldier and the other man inhabiting the small carriage. The other looked about as big as a bear with a dirty golden mane falling down his neck. The clothes he wore looked expensive. He appeared to be a man of importance, the gag in his mouth stopping him from uttering a single word.

It was the reedy Nord that had spoken, hazel coloured eyes focused entirely on Sara. "Assassin, you and I, we shouldn't be here. We aren't soldiers. Heck you're an assassin and I'm a thief. This isn't our fight. They want the Stormcloaks, not us!"

"Yeah, and? What do you expect me to do about it? If you hadn't noticed already I've been stabbed in the stomach, my hands are burned, my shoulder had an arrow stuck in it and my daggers are nowhere to be found. You got another idea up in that thick head of yours?" She really wasn't in a very good mood. Stuck in an Imperial convoy headed to Helgen was really the last place she wanted to be.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

The Imperial steering the carriage twisted his head to glare at the prisoners, "shut up back there!"

"What's wrong with him? Why's he gagged and we aren't? Is he important?" the reedy Nord nodded at the gagged man.

"Watch your tongue around him, thief! That is the true High King you are speaking to: Ulfric Stormcloak," the soldier snapped.

_Ulfric Stormcloak? _So Delphine had heard correctly when the Imperials had boasted about bagging the Bear of Eastmarch. Looking over at the supposed 'High King' who was slumped forwards on the bench, elbows resting on his knees and eyes trained on the thief. There wasn't a trace of anger on his face direct at the reedy Nord, only curiosity and perhaps a dash of pity.

Sara raised a brow. Did the leader of the rebellion feel bad that he'd dragged a petty thief into a fight that had nothing to do with him? Perhaps he wasn't just the cold Jarl that had Shouted the old High King to pieces.

He turned his head and met her curious gaze, steely gray eyes hardening like ice. _Or perhaps he is the dick Astrid makes him out to be_. There was nothing pitiful or even slightly comforting about the coldness that had grown in his eyes. Then again it wasn't as if she wanted his pity. It was entirely her fault that she'd gotten so tired and stumbled upon the convoy yesterday. Though if he hadn't have started the rebellion then the convoy wouldn't have been there in the first place…

Glaring at him she shifted her body, wincing at the spark of pain that flashed through her body. She'd have to get her wounds looked at once she made it back to the sanctuary. Astrid was going to be super pissed. There was no way Sara was going to be able to make up some excuse about having run into a bear in the wilderness. Bears didn't usually attack with swords and arrows.

"Ulfric? As in the Ulfric that's Jarl of Windhelm? Leader of the rebellion? Oh gods if they've captured you then where are they taking us!?" the reedy Nord whimpered pathetically.

"Haven't you been listening?" Sara muttered, "we're going to Helgen. Going to be getting nice and cosy with the Imperial soldiers there."

A walled town arose from the wilderness, thatched roofs peering peeking over walls made of stone and sharp timber. Imperials strode along the tops of the walls holding bows, watching carefully for any signs of enemies. Not that many people bothered to come past Helgen. There were easier, safer ways to gain access to the Rift such as the road than ran through Eastmarch.

"Horse thief," the soldier broke the stony silence. "What village are you from?"

"What does it matter to you?!" he snapped in return.

"A Nords last thoughts should be of the home he has left behind."

The thief looked down at his bound hands, greasy hair falling across his forehead. "I…I'm from Rorikstead."

"General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting," shouted an Imperial soldier.

Sara snapped her head to look at the open gate they were about to pass through. _Headsman? No, we're going to be locked up in some dungeon for the next ten years, not have our heads removed from our necks. _Alarmed she looked at the others in the carriage out of the corner of her eye. The thief looked about ready to pass out as he muttered prays to the divines, but the other two – the soldier and the leader – looked calm and collected.

"Pah, General Tullius," the soldier growled. "The military governor consorting with the Thalmor, no surprise there. Damn Elves, bet they were the ones behind the ambush."

Subconsciously Sara shook her head, moving her hair – which had long since fallen out of its braid – to make sure it still covered her pointed ears. "Not all Elves side with the Thalmor," she remarked quietly.

Her comment was unnoticed. "Used to think these Imperial walls made me feel so safe back when I was sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod's still brewing his mead with juniper berries mixed into it."

Tuning out the soldier's pointless reminiscing Sara turned her attention to the Imperial village. It seemed so much like Riverwood even with the intimidating walls and Imperial soldiers. A family watched the convoy pass by, a young boy asking his father where the carriages were taking the prisoners. He was hushed and sent inside but not without protest. The boy wanted to watch what he could not understand.

A courtyard presented itself amidst the thatched houses and stone towers; a courtyard home to a headsman and his block. Dressed in yellowed robes a priestess of Arkay strode across to the block, a look of sorrow clear on her face.

"Woah." The carriage came to a juddering stop, prisoners in other carriages already being ordered to get off. A stone-faced Imperial captain, a woman dressed in the steel armour of her province, barked out commands shouting at the prisoners to get a move on. Her hand firmly clasped the hilt of a sword.

"Why are we stopping?" the reedy Nord whispered.

"End of the line. Shouldn't keep the guards waiting, let's go," the soldier answered.

The thief looked borderline hysterical. "You've got to tell them that we're not rebels!" he demanded as he rose shakily to his feet. "We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with at least a little dignity."

Sara gripped the edge of the carriage with white-knuckled hands as she shuffled down the carriage, her wounds burning terribly. Already her head was beginning to feel light. She stumbled after having half-jumped half-fallen out of the carriage and onto the cobblestone road, feeling a warm hand come to rest on her shoulder. "Don't you have any barbed words to spit in the face of death?" the soldier asked.

"A few," she groaned and straightened up.

"Go toward the block when we call your name, one at a time. We know just how much you all want to rush toward your death," the stone-faced Imperial barked.

A man wearing the usual Imperial light armour clutched a list in one arm and a quill in the other glanced down at the paper and began to read names off.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm." The rebellion leader walked with his head raised high.

"Ralof of Riverwood." The blonde haired soldier that had spoken lightly to Sara after she'd woken was next to be called and she blinked in surprise. He was from Riverwood. No wonder the name had sounded eerily familiar. Ralof shared a tense look with the list-reading Imperial before joining his Jarl near the block.

"Lokir of Rorikstead." The horse thief stepped forth, quaking in fear.

And then he made the stupid decision to run. "No! I'm not a rebel! You ca-." He made it no further than the house where the young boy had wanted to watch before an archer ended his life.

The Imperial Captain made a smart-ass comment about anybody else wanting to run before the list-reader glanced up in confusion. "You're not on the list." He eyed the figure-hugging armour with a worried look.

Sara stepped forward. "No surprise there. I wasn't actually supposed to be here."

"Who are _you?_" he questioned.

"Does it really matter? Can't we just cut my head off and be done with it?" she said.

"Your name, assassin," the Imperial Captain ordered, tapping the hilt of her sword threateningly with a pointed glare.

Sara couldn't help but laugh loudly, "because tapping your sword is going to make me shiver in my boots. I could kill you with my hands tied behind my back – oh, wait! They more-or-less are!"

The Captain pulled her sword from its sheath, the sound of metal sliding against metal ringing throughout the now silent courtyard. "Vileti," the list-reader cautioned, "wouldn't you rather the headsman deal with her?"

"She's not on the list, Hadvar, therefore it doesn't matter how she dies," Vileti grinned darkly.

"Well now this just got interesting," Sara smirked.

Vileti raised her sword above her head with a roaring cry of battle, swiping it towards Sara's injured shoulder. She hit the ground in a roll hearing the sword whistle through the air where her shoulder had been seconds ago. A feral grin spread across Sara's face as she flipped back onto her feet and kicked the Imperial in the ribs. Vileti winced but thrust her sword forward whilst bringing her fist around for a punch.

Grabbing the hand in hers she pulled down on Vileti's arm, sending the Imperial crashing to the ground. She spied a dagger slotted into a hidden sheath amongst the ridges on the steel armour protecting Vileti's shoulders and whipped it out, skipping just out of reach of a kicked aimed at the tear in her stomach.

Normally Sara had a habit of playing with her prey, taunting them into thinking they were winning or dragging the fight out so that it lasted for hours but with her wounds starting to act up and her body protesting every fast movement she decided this fight was to be a quick one.

She'd planned on sending the dagger flying at Vileti's head when strong arms grabbed her shoulders and tried to force her into a kneeling position. Sweeping her left foot in an arcing motion she swept the feet of her second attacker out from under them, grinning when they were the one to fall to their knees instead.

"I was only going to kill one of you," she purred as she turned to meet Hadvar's scared gaze. "But know I think I'll kill a couple of you, return to my sanctuary and then return for revenge later."

She held the dagger against the skin of his throat, smirking at the sweat that was beading on his brow and dripping down the sides of his face. Drops of blood formed when she pressed the blade a little harder.

The twang of a bowstring reached her ears far too late for her to successfully move away from the arrow hurtling towards her. Flinging the stolen dagger in the direction of the archer she bit her lip when the arrow sliced a shallow cut across the side of her neck.

Vileti kicked Sara's stomach wound, sending the assassin crumpling to her knees in a similar position that Hadvar had been in just before. The Captain gripped a handful of burgundy hair and forced Sara to look in the direction of a fallen Imperial that had a familiar dagger jutting from his neck.

"I wasn't going to give you the option of a public death but now I think I'll enjoy seeing your head roll for myself," Vileti hissed and yanked Sara to her feet, hauling her over to the block.

A distant roar thundered across the sky sounding like a clap of thunder as it rolled through the cloudy sky. Murmurs of concern sprung up but were silenced by an angry bark from Vileti, "the assassin will be executed first."

"I have yet to give them their rites," the Arkay priestess protested.

Vileti narrowed her eyes. "Does the assassin deserve her rites?"

"All deserve their rites."

"Get a move on with it then," the Captain grumbled and slipped a gag into Sara's mouth, tightening it to the point where it was painful to swallow. "To stop you from starting anymore fights."

The priestess began to administer the last rites, droning on about the blessing of Arkay and the Eight Divines. Several Stormcloaks bristled when the number of Divines was acknowledged as Eight and not Nine but Sara couldn't care less. There was only one god she even slightly believed in and that was Y'ffre.

"Are you done?" Vileti snapped when the priestess ceased to speak.

"Yes. My job here is done."

"Good," the Captain spoke shoving Sara towards the waiting headsman. "Our first execution can finally begin."

Hadvar reappeared, nothing more than a smudge of red showing on his throat, tapping a quill against the list he'd been reading names off. "Captain, I still need her name."

The gag was tugged down Sara's face but she refused to so much as make a sound until Vileti applied pressure to the wound on her stomach which had begun to bleed again. The longer she waited to speak the more pressure Vileti applied until Sara gave in. She wouldn't be alive long enough to hear her name on the lips of others. "Sara Fleetfoot."

"A Nord? Unlikely. You're too short to be a Nord and your skin is darker," Vileti scowled. "Tell us your real name."

"That is my real name," Sara replied coldly.

Vileti raised a brow in a disbelieving manner before pulling Sara's hair up and away from her ears, revealing their pointed tips. Glancing out of the corner of her eye Sara could see the surprise in the eyes of Ralof and the other Stormcloak soldiers. An elf pretending to be a Nord, she could practically hear their disgusted thoughts.

"What's this?" Vileti crowed, "not a Nord and not an Elf but both! A halfbreed! Oh how disgusting."

The cold edge of a sword came to rest against the back of her head, sliding underneath her hair so that it pricked the skin. "Can't have your long hair getting in the way of the headsman's axe now can we?"

A feeling of dread settled in the pit of Sara's stomach but she refused to so much as look at the Captain as she pressed the sword harder against her head. The sound of metal slicing through soft hair sounded so loud as it echoed around the silent courtyard. Her hair that had once tumbled down to her shoulder blades now sat just below her chin.

Her legs were kicked out from underneath her, plunging her to her knees once more. She wouldn't be surprised if they were bruised black and blue. Another thundering roar – this time so much louder than the last – ripped through the silence that had fallen over Helgen.

"There's that sound again," Hadvar commented, looking up into the sky as if he expected it to start raining. "Do you reckon it's going to storm, Captain?"

"What does it matter!?" Vileti fumed, forcing Sara's head down onto the block with her foot. "Get on with the damn executions I haven't got all day!"

The block was cold under Sara's neck, the stone chipped and uneven where an axe had cut straight through a neck and into the stone beneath. A wicker basket sat in front of the block to catch the heads as they rolled. Her head was turned away from the watching Stormcloaks and toward the headsman. From behind him rose a dishevelled looking stone tower complete with a ratty old wooden door.

A winged shape appeared in her peripheral vision but it vanished before she could catch more than a glimpse of it. The headsman raised his axe high above his head and then a beast appeared from behind the tower beating wings so big they blotted out the sky behind it. It landed so heavily on the tower that it sent a shockwave rumbling through Helgen, knocking the headsman off of his feet. His axe fell from his hands, slicing down the length of Sara's back deep enough to cut through her armour and graze her skin. She cried out in pain but her cry was lost in a roar from the beast.

"_Dovahkiin, hi lost daal_,_" _the beast crooned before it raised its head to the sky above and released a roar that shook the mountains. The sky turned gray, clouds forming from nowhere to hide the baby blue, and fire rained from the heavens. Another shockwave tore through Helgen knocking Sara over as she scrambled to her feet. Her head collided with the ground and everything blurred.

With a grunt she waited anxiously for her vision to clear before hauling herself to her feet. The beast was no longer perched atop the tower but was instead unleashing hell from the sky above with shrieking roars. She nearly fell back to the ground when it swooped overhead. _Dragon._ There was nothing else the beast could be. Wings big enough to blot out the sun, fire spilling from massive jaws, a tail that could crush a Nord. A dragon of legend had appeared. _Aren't they usually harbingers of the End Times?_

A sword clattered to the ground near her head as an Imperial soldier took one look at the dragon and ran screaming for cover. Reaching for the sword Sara looked up in search of one particular soldier who was in _desperate _need of a sword through her back.

She didn't have to search for very long before she found Captain Vileti ordering a bunch of villagers to safety. "You!" Sara roared and dashed across to the Imperial, driving her sword straight through Vileti's shoulder. "Allow me to deliver the death you deserve!"

"You'd…k-kill me in front of innocent children?" Vileti gasped as she held a shaking hand up to the hole in her shoulder that was gushing blood.

"The sooner they learn of death the better," Sara snarled. In one swift movement she dragged the edge of the sword across Vileti's throat, grinning viciously as the Imperial spluttered and choked on blood.

"Mother!" But it was the shrill and heartbreaking cry of a little boy that nearly knocked Sara off of her feet. A small boy who looked to be about four years of age stumbled over to the now-still body of Vileti and shook it, begging the dead Imperial to wake up. His tiny cries, so full of panic and fear, rung in her ears taking her back to a time long past.

The ground beneath her feet jolted suddenly as a heavy weight crashed into it with a low rumbling roar. "_Kein ahkaan families oraan nau ney reid, Dovahkiin"_. The dragon was standing right behind her, teeth bared in what Sara could've sworn was a cold grin.

She turned away from the crying little boy ready to face her fiery death. Apparently she was to die in Helgen today, just not in the way she first expected. _Oh well, at least dying under the flames of a dragon is a more interesting death._

The creature was beautiful in a cruel, dark way. Sharp scales coloured gray like the ash that tumbled from the roaring flames, splashed with the blood of Imperial guards. Vicious spikes ran along its spine, all of uneven lengths, leading down to a barbed tail that cracked like a whip, keeping the guards at bay. It leaned on its massive wings that were just a shade darker than its scales, leering forwards mockingly. Twin horns protruded from its skull where two eyes blazed like small flames.

It appeared to have been carved from rock.

_"Sahleg," _it rumbled darkly. _"Hi piraan wah kos gein do mii tul hi dreh ni orin tinvaak un vun!"_

Sara's breath caught in her throat as the guttural language spilled forth from the dragon's gaping maw, mixing with the hot air it breathed to wash over her. Dragons are mindless beasts focused on destroying all that stands in their way. Dragons do not speak. They roar. They breathe fire and ice. They kill without remorse. They _do not_ begin a conversation with an assassin amongst the burning ruins of a walled village.

"Get out of the way, assassin!" Through the haze of her mind Sara thought she heard the shouting of that soldier from Riverwood. _Ralof?_ But, when her eyes met the fiery orbs set into the dragon's rock-like skull, she found that she could not look away. In its eyes she saw the world set ablaze, burning everyone and everything, before it froze over for centuries. The ice melted and from it burst forth a new world brimming with peace and prosperity, dragons claiming leadership over the new world. She felt at peace.

That was until a burning pain ripped a path up her back across the grazed skin left bare to the world after the headsman had dropped his axe. A shriek chased itself from her throat as she fell to the ground, shielding her face from the cobblestone road with her hands. From the corner of her eye she saw the little boy that had called Vileti his mother clenching an arrow in one hand, tears tracking clear lines down his ash-covered face.

Stars twirled before her vision when she attempted to move and she decided that today she would die as a beaten assassin that wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. Y'ffre would be taking her home early.

Her vision blurred over as another wave of pain crashed over her so she didn't see the dragon sit back onto its haunches and beat its wings to create a gust of wind so strong it blew the Imperial child off his feet and into the stone wall of a watchtower behind him. He did not get up. In another harsh gust of wind the dragon rose off of the ground, returning to smothering Helgen in fire.

"You are one resilient woman," a gruff voice muttered beside her head. Warm arms encircled her body and lifted her from the cold ground. "But you're not immortal and will die if you keep rushing blindly into battle."

"I don't rush blindly into battle," she protested, blinking open her eyes to stare up at Ralof's face.

He chuckled and shook his head. "That's not what I've seen. Was goading the Imperial Captain into a fight really necessary?"

"She threatened me and by doing so she threatened the Brotherhood. Death arrives on swift wings for those that threaten the Brotherhood."

Shouldering open the door of a watchtower Ralof placed her on the ground just inside the doorway, slamming the door shut to keep the dragon's prying eyes off them. "Jarl Ulfric," he demanded, "what is that thing!? Are the old legends really true!?"

"Villages aren't burned down by legends." The Jarl's voice was thicker than Ralof's and held more of a smoother sound to it. "Why did you rescue the assassin? She might have been sent to kill one of us."

Sara couldn't help but snort. That's all people ever thought when they spotted her armour, recalling the bloodthirsty tales of a Brotherhood responsible for midnight murders. "Is it really that hard to believe that I was merely passing through the area? Not my fault I got tangled up in the mess of your civil war, _Jarl_ Ulfric," she replied hoarsely.

A small red potion nudged her hand courtesy of the soldier from Riverwood, smelling of mountain flowers. Offering an emotionless smile she took it and chugged it down, sighing as the potion went to work knitting broken bones and ripped skin back together.

"Can you blame me for not trusting an assassin; an agent of Sithis?" Ulfric rumbled. "More so an Elven assassin."

"Careful there, Stormcloak, your racism is showing," she hissed dryly.

Ralof stepped in between them, "she's Nord as well."

"How lovely for you to notice," Sara snapped and scrambled to her feet. The health potion had done its work though some nasty scars had been left behind, not to mention how tattered her armour was looking what with it missing nearly most of its back. "I'll leave you two here to discuss my _very _confusing race," with a small bow she added, "I'll be hoping you get crushed in the process."

Her foot had only just touched the first step of a curving staircase that lead to the roof of the watchtower when Ralof shouted, "hey! I saved your life!"

"What do you want? A thank you note signed by the Brotherhood? Be happy I didn't stab you in the throat when I got the chance," she tossed over her shoulder and continued ascending the staircase silently cursing everyone involved in the civil war.

Upon reaching a landing the walls of the watchtower shook violently before the wall just in front of Sara exploded, chunks of stone flying everywhere as a jagged muzzle forced its way in. Hot flames poured in through the gaping hall, singeing her arm as she hugged herself tight against the wall. "_Zu'u fen ag pah hi sahlag joor," _uttered the guttural voice before it returned to the sky.

A heap of rubble cut off the rest of the stairway leaving only two options of escape: retreat back down the stairs and face racist soldiers or jump from the watchtower. Peering through the hole Sara found there to be a house – though it was missing a patch of its roof – within jumping distance. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder before leaping from the watchtower, absorbing the impact of the landing with a small roll.

"How the heck am I supposed to get out of here alive?" she grumbled to herself as she made her way down a sagging staircase to the destroyed ground level of the house. Screams of fear mixed with the shrieking roar of the dragon pierced her sharp hearing and brought back dark memories.

A familiar shape greeted her eyes when she gingerly stepped out from the safety of the house, a familiar shape dressed in armour that made her blood boil. Hadvar stood in between the ruins of buildings attempting to coax a boy away from the injured body of, Sara assumed, his father. "Come on, Haming. I'll get your father once we've gotten you to safety. He'll be fine, I promise."

The boy, Haming, turned away with a quiet sob and clutched onto Hadvar's arm as the Imperial led him towards the house – which she had discovered to be the remnants of an inn. But he never had the chance to return for the boy's father. The dragon unleashed a tide of fire that engulfed the injured father burning him to a crisp, barely missing Hadvar and Haming. "You lied!" the boy howled while Hadvar handed him off to an older man dressed in iron armour. "You lied!"

"Look after him, Gunnar," Hadvar ignored the boy's heartbreaking shouts. He raised his head and met Sara's cold gaze, flinching under its intensity. "If you want to live come with me, prisoner."

Not seeing any other way of dodging both dragon and Imperial Sara pushed herself off the wall of the inn, jogging after Hadvar as the Imperial hurried past the burnt body of Haming's father. "If you'd refrain from killing me after we escape that'd be great," he joked bluntly.

"I'll see how I feel," Sara responded smoothly.

They broke away from the unprotected open of the main road choosing to slip in between the back of a house and the wall protecting Helgen from the outside world. A pair of strong wings beat a steady rhythm above them and Hadvar shouted to get back against the wall just as the dragon alighted atop it. A huge talon that protruded from the wing of the beast hovered inches above their heads. It lowered its head and opened its jaw to release another flurry of flames. _"Toor…Shul!"_

Once it had returned to the sky Hadvar dashed up a flight of steps and into the ruins of what had might've been a house once, darting around the left over pieces of wall to exit the ruins straight into a group of Imperials sending arrows and fireballs up at the dragon. General Tullius himself sent an arrow flying into the sky all the while barking orders for the others to retreat to the keep.

"Let's get to the keep before we're burned alive," Hadvar gestured to the only building that wasn't severely damaged. "After you."

"Hoping I'll protect you from the worst of the flames?" Sara smirked.

The Imperial smiled slightly, "might give me time to move out of the way."

She chuckled as she passed under an archway leading into an empty courtyard. From a collapsed part of the village wall appeared Ralof covered in ash, blood and dirt, wielding an iron axe. "You will never stop the rebellion!" the Riverwood soldier barked at Hadvar coming to rest in a defensive stance.

"I pray the dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar snapped back before glancing at Sara over his shoulder. "Come on, the door to the keep is just over there."

Ralof gave her a pleading look that spoke of his own want for her to join him in the other side of the keep. Perhaps he thought her fighting skill might come in handy if he was to run into any Imperials once inside the tall stone building. There was no apparent way of making it into the keep alone it seemed so she was forced to choose the lesser of the evils. "Sorry, Hadvar. You Imperials are the reason I'm here at all. But…perhaps there are a few decent soldiers still around," she placed a hand on his shoulder.

Sure she still hated every Imperial currently residing in Skyrim but Hadvar didn't have to help her navigate the burning village to get to safety. But he did. And she was grateful.

"Try not to run into anymore convoys, assassin," he grinned.

She rolled her eyes before turning away from the Imperial soldier to make her way up the steps and into the keep.


	3. Beast

**Chapter Three: Beast**

The wooden door of the keep slammed shut with a creaky whining sound that set Sara's teeth on edge. Gods how she despised Helgen with a passion. Leaning against the door frame she spotted Ralof bent over the unmoving body of another Stormcloak soldier murmuring words of farewell and a promise to meet once again in Sovngarde. She suppressed a low growl. There were those in bordering provinces that spoke of the Nords having an obsession with their afterlife.

"Let me get those binds off you, assassin," Ralof said thickly as he straightened up, giving his deceased fellow soldier one last sad look.

Sara smirked and held up her already free hands. "No need for that. They were the first thing to go after I found a sword."

The soldier gave a weak smile, "you might as well take Gunjar's gear. He certainly won't be needing it anymore. You won't stab me once my back is turned will you?"

She thought he was joking until she saw the concern etched faintly into his face. A part of her took offence to his blatant distrust of her, until she reminded herself of the bloodthirsty reputation all Brotherhood assassins had acquired. "Hadvar said a similar thing, you know?"

Pushing off of the wall she made her way over to the dead soldier and began picking at the useless armour he'd been wearing. How did they honestly expect to survive a battle with a wolf let alone a fellow human when their armour was nothing more than a padded cuirass? The decision to leave the armour on the body was an easy one. Nimble fingers tugged a well-used iron war axe from the body and tested its weight with a few light swings.

It was heavier than her normal choice of weapon but it would have to do until she could get back to the sanctuary. "Can't blame people for being nervous around assassins. You don't have morals, you just kill because you're told to."

"Don't have morals!?" Sara whirled around, watching with cold eyes as the soldier fiddled with the lock on a weathered wooden door before moving onto an iron gate. "I'll have you know that the assassins I call my brothers and sisters have more honour than most of your fellow Stormcloaks."

Ralof grunted, "I hope you won't take it personally if I disagree. Can we not fight? We might stand a chance of making it out of this keep alive if we work together."

The assassin opened her mouth to bite back a sharp reply but abruptly closed it when the sound of muffled voices drifted into the circular room they'd unknowingly trapped themselves in. Metal scuffed against stone as the voices grew louder with each passing moment.

Acting from previous experiences Sara dashed over to the wall beside the iron gate, peering around the corner, hand clenching and unclenching around the wooden handle of the axe. Silently she hoped the people making their way slowly closer were Imperials. There was still plenty of unfinished business she had with those soldiers.

The gate swung open loudly and a soldier paced into the room, straight into Sara's trap. It all happened in a matter of seconds. The soldier glanced to the side, Sara raised her axe, he grabbed at the hilt of his sword, and she brought the axe crashing down onto his skull. He hit the floor with a dull thud.

"Down with the Stormcloaks!"

"For Talos!"

Two separate battle cries resonated through the circular room as swords clashed against each other with a sharp ringing sound. She rolled her eyes, skipping out of range of the jab aimed at her thigh and darting back to bash the hilt of her axe into the soldier's face. He let out a hoarse cry, clutching at his bloody nose.

"Assassin filth!" the bleeding soldier swore once again swinging wildly with his sword.

"Maybe," she snarled as she brought her axe up to meet the soldier's sword, "you'd stand more of a chance in battle," swinging her leg around she kicked her heel into the back of his kneecap, "if you paid more attention to your fighting instead of your battle taunts." When his knee gave way and he dropped to the floor she pushed him onto his back. She smiled upon noticing the fearful sweat that had broken out on the soldier's face, bringing her axe down to kiss his throat.

With the back of her hand she brushed the blood from her cheek.

"I'm glad they were actually Imperial soldiers and not fellow Stormcloaks," Ralof panted, lightly kicking the body of the soldier he'd felled. The iron axe he'd been wielding upon entrance to the keep had been swapped for a stolen sword.

"What makes you say that?"

The two passed through the now open iron gate, holding their weapons high should anymore Imperials appear from the shadows. "You didn't pause to see who they were. What if they'd been on our side?"

"_Your _side. Not mine," she corrected. The walls shook, a loud roaring shriek reaching even their ears as the dragon no doubt wreaked havoc over Helgen. Pieces of stone sprinkled down from the roof and clattered quietly to the floor. Ralof started to drone on about something to do with how Skyrim was benefitting from the Stormcloak uprising, but she toned him out to focus on the small cracks appearing on the roof.

Dark brows furrowed in alarmed curiosity as one of the cracks grew larger, more shards of stone dislodging themselves. A loud crack rang out through the corridor. Sara's eyes widened. "Shit, move!" she shouted, throwing herself at Ralof to move him out of the way.

The roof gave an almighty screech before collapsing to the floor where both of them had been standing moments before. A cloud of dust rolled over them. "I've nearly died at least three times today. That's got to be a record," Sara stated after the dust had cleared.

"We can talk about records later but for now would you mind getting off?" the blond soldier mumbled.

Looking down Sara couldn't help but chuckle. Her mad rush to throw both of them out of harm's way had ended in Ralof on his back and her straddled across his midsection. There was no way she was crushing his lungs. The Nord was at least twice her size. A thought crossed her mind that draw a smirk across her lips. "Keep it in your pants, soldier, we only just met. Could at least take me out for dinner first," she purred.

Ralof glared up at her. "Get off. _Now._"

"Tetchy," she pouted, scrambling off the Nord's broad chest. "What did I _ever _do to you?"

"Is it really such a strange thing not to trust an assassin?"

She extended a hand but was brushed off as he stood up himself, retrieving the sword that had been flung from his hand. "Not at all. I'd be concerned for your safety if you trusted me, but I have yet to make so much as an attempt on your life. In fact I went out of my way to save you. Think of that next time you stare at me with disgust."

They spoke no more as they made their way through the crumbling keep, cutting down any Imperials that got in their way. The tension between them crackled dangerously whenever their eyes met but they protected each other regardless. When a soldier snuck up behind her when her attention was elsewhere it was he that shouted a warning, and when an arrow was sent his way it was her quick thinking that stopped it from reaching his heart.

But the tension only increased when they came across more Stormcloaks fighting valiantly against Imperial torturers in a dungeon that stunk of death and decay. It took several minutes of heated words for Ralof to convince the others that the assassin that stood before them in tattered armour wasn't going to slit their throats. When she made the mistake of clumsily picking a lock to gain access to a Spell Tome instructing the use of Sparks the newest additions to their odd team looked about ready to kill her then.

She was thankful, however, for the Stormcloaks whose names were still unknown to her when they came across the place where the keep blended with a natural cavern housing numerous enemy soldiers; too many for just her and Ralof to deal with.

The idea to quietly pick off as many of the soldiers as possible rather than charge in shouting loudly was lost in the battle shouts the Stormcloaks produced. "And you wonder why neither side of this darn civil war is winning," she grumbled as she vaulted over a banister to land on the shoulders of an unsuspecting Imperial. A firm tug yanked his neck in an unnatural angle killing him instantly.

An arrow whizzed by her head, missing her ear by mere inches. Turning she found an Imperial hastily nocking another arrow on the pathway above her. She gritted her teeth and made the – probably stupid – decision to part with her weapon for a few moments. As the iron axe left her hand in the direction of the archer she noted just how often she'd flung her weapons recently.

The archer managed to move out of the axe's path which Sara had expected. But by moving out of the way the archer had had to lower her aim thus giving Sara the perfect opportunity to scale the short wall.

What she hadn't planned for was the archer recovering so quickly. The tip of an arrow prodded the soft flesh of her neck and she glanced up to meet the mocking look of the Imperial archer. "How about you lower your bow and we talk about this? I think you've never taken a life before or you would've let that arrow fly long before my mouth opened. Nervous?" Sara pondered aloud.

She didn't miss the hesitation that flitted across the Imperial woman's face. Knocking the arrow away with her hand, Sara punched the nervous soldier in the face and then gripped the woman's throat. Calling once again on the magicka thrumming through her veins she remembered the instructions written in the Spell Tome.

_Imagine your magicka taking the form of lightning, shooting forth from your hands towards those unfortunate enough to cross you. _

Sparks flew from Sara's fingertips into the Imperial's throat and the soldier gave a strangled cry as her body jerked. It wasn't a quick death for the soldier nor was it a painless one.

"Are all you assassins that brutal?" one of the Stormcloaks inquired.

Meeting the rest of her 'allies' by a raised drawbridge she answered the Stormcloak's question with a wild grin, "only the best of us."

As Ralof tugged on an ancient looking lever Sara adjusted the flimsy hunting bow she'd taken from a lifeless soldier, moving the string so that it crossed across her chest. She'd been disappointed not to find any daggers on the soldiers during her search for arrows.

The drawbridge creaked loudly, thudding into place and stirring up a cloud of dust. Another tremor vibrated through the keep. Sara glanced up at the roof sceptically. _Do I really want to have to throw myself at another Stormcloak? No. _

"Away from the drawbridge!" she shouted just before Ralof could put his boot down on the old looking wooden bridge. The others looked at her in annoyance. She simply pointed to the roof, pinning Ralof under a meaningful stare. "What happened last time the keep shook?"

"I, uh, you had to save me," the Nord answered sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

"That I did," Sara replied. "There's no other way of getting out of here without crossing the bridge so we'll just have to do it quickly. No dawdling. I don't want to have to throw myself at any more Stormcloaks today."

The other male Stormcloak – Tsuold as Sara had finally discovered – elbowed Ralof in the ribs with a chuckle. "Got a problem with being saved by women?" the female Stormcloak snapped.

"What did I _just _say about arguing?" Sara pointed at the bickering soldiers with her axe.

Tsuold eyed the axe gingerly. "If you're so set on crossing the bridge then why don't you go first?"

She raised a brow but decided against snapping back a cold reply, striding over the wooden bridge without so much as a glance back at the soldiers. The wood creaked a little under foot as she crept lightly across the rotten planks and she let out a quiet sigh upon reaching the end of it, looking over her shoulder at the now-silent Stormcloaks. "You lot coming?"

Another tremor vibrated through the walls.

"Should we come one at a time?" the female Stormcloak questioned.

Sara nodded.

The bridge creaked under Ralof's heavier weight, the Nord looking particularly sheepish as the walls shook with another tremor. "Dragon's sure having its way with Helgen," he puffed as he stepped onto the safety of the stone floor with a look of sheer relief.

"Aye," the assassin replied. "Wouldn't surprise me if there's nothing left afterwards."

Yet another tremor – this time so much bigger – rocked the Keep, once again dislodging pebbles from the ceiling and creating small fissures in the stone. The sound of rock grating against rock rippled through the cavern. A section of the roof gave way nearly crushing Tsuold who'd thrown himself out of its path and onto the bridge behind the female Stormcloak.

The bridge beneath their feet shuddered under the weight of two people as they clambered shakily across it. Ralof stretched his hand out to his fellow soldiers, calling their names as he reached as far as he could.

Sara peeked up at the roof. Alarmed at what she saw she grabbed the back of Ralof's cuirass and hauled him away from the bridge, tossing him down the stairs leading to another cavern from which the sound of rushing water emanated from. A hand clutched loosely at her ankle and she kicked it off to make a dive for the stairs just as the roof caved in.

A cloud of dust obscured her view of the rubble pile. Her head throbbed after having come in contact with the edge of the stone stairs. Before she could heave herself to her feet a hand grabbed the back of her neck and hauled her up, bringing her face to face with a rather angry looking Nord.

"Why!?" Ralof demanded. "I could've saved them!"

Pushing the man away she scowled, "they might still be alive."

The cloud settled revealing a less than hopeful scene. Rubble was piled ceiling high, a small stream of water dribbling through the rocks. Dirtied fingers could be seen clutching at empty air and just above them lolled a bloody head.

Messy dark hair that had been wet with sweat was now matted with blood, falling over a face frozen in the pain the Stormcloak had felt at the time of her death. Blood had started to drip from the crack in her skull.

The hand that had been fasted around the back of her neck now gripped at her shoulder. "What was that about them possibly still being alive?"

"People die every day. Get over it," Sara snorted dismissively and started towards the stairs. His hand gripped harder, pulling her back.

"They didn't have to die. I could've saved them if you hadn't pushed me out the way," Ralof growled. "You could've left me to die here beside my brothers and sisters. Why didn't you?"

Sara eyed the hand on her shoulder out of the corner of her eye. "I need someone to get me out of these caverns. Can't fight off squadrons of Imperials on my own."

"Is that all I am to you? Just a way of survival?"

"Did you honestly expect anything else? There is no way you will ever come to trust me, soldier, so why should I trust you? We are not friends. We are not enemies. We are allies until we get out of these caverns. Then we'll go our separate ways and never see each other again. So stop expecting me to suddenly become your friend. It's not going to happen," Sara snapped back.

The pressure on her shoulder was beginning to become painful but still the Nord soldier would not let her go. "Assassins can't be trusted. Conniving people using tricks and lies to slither their way through life," he muttered.

A beast awoke within Sara, one she'd managed to quell for months. She could feel its sluggish movements as it paced the space in her mind where she'd kept it locked away; feel it feeding her growing anger at the man clutching her shoulder with bruising strength. "Let me go," she hissed through gritted teeth. The beast growled.

"Oh, I forgot you're rather protective of your assassin friends." Still he didn't move his hand.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the beast locked away as it beat against the walls it'd been imprisoned in. Scrunching her eyes shut she placed one of her hands on Ralof's, sinking her nails into the flesh. The beast smiled, breaking free from its prison. "Let. Me. _Go!"_ Her eyes snapped open and, upon seeing the flash of fear cross the Stormcloak's face, knew they were glowing yellow.

His hand fell from her shoulder and he took a step back, jaw opening and closing in silent speech, "what…what are you!?"

"A monster," Sara flashed a toothy grin. She couldn't remember a time where she'd felt any better than she did now with her beast prowling freely through her mind. Everything she'd lost upon locking it up came rushing back. A sharpened sense of hearing picked up the skittering of frostbite spiders further within cavern. The lust to kill flooded her bones.

Leaving Ralof to stand in shock she jogged down the stairs. Following the underground river fed by a small waterfall Sara swiped a coin purse from between the ribs of a skeleton before turning away from the river to enter a tunnel. The smell of the spiders flooded her senses. She could hear them even without her heightened hearing now, skittering to and fro, chirping to each other.

Huge webs dangled from the towering ceiling of the smaller cavern and choked the bottom of thick columns of twisting stone. Five of the large spiders milled around aimlessly, some trailing strands of sticky web behind them. The beast made a keening sound.

Slipping the bow from her shoulder she fitted an arrow to it and pointed it in the direction of one of the spiders. She took a deep breath to steady herself, pulled the string back, and let it fly revelling in the sound of it thudding into the spider's head. It jerked back with a loud cry.

Before the remaining spiders could acknowledge that they were under attack she'd taken down another two before swapping her bow for her axe, bringing it down on the head of an advancing spider. The beast warned her before the last spider could spit its poison at her. She spun on her heels to dodge the sticky projectile flying towards her and retrieved an arrow from its quiver, flinging it at the spider before it could spit at her again.

Killing normally gave her a small buzz but now…now with her beast free it filled her with adrenaline and left her feeling a little breathless. _Why'd Arnbjorn tell me to bury my beast? This is the most powerful I've been for years! _

The beast growled approvingly in response.

Ralof stumbled upon Sara leaning into the shadows of a twisted column eyeing the slumbering form of a brown-pelted cave bear. Her sides were heaving and the strange greenish blue blood from frostbite spiders dripping down her arms. The yellow gaze he'd been pinned under before had been replaced with her usual frosty blue eyes. But that didn't make him feel any safer.

What had the assassin meant when she'd told him she was a monster? He already knew that. She was an assassin. She killed whoever she was asked to without a second thought. How could any normal person do that without losing a little of their humanity?

He hadn't hated having the halfbreed with him whilst traversing the keep. She'd done her fair share of fighting, taken down plenty of Imperials.

"I can practically hear your mind whirring, soldier," Sara's voice was low and hoarse. A cruel smirk lifted the corners of her mouth. "Are you afraid?"

"Afraid of what? You're no more dangerous than you were when we first met," was his stiff reply.

The bark of laughter she let out sent a shudder down his spine. It was true, she hadn't gotten any more dangerous since her arrival in the prison carriage, so why did he feel as if he was in more danger now than ever before? His grip on his sword tightened subconsciously.

"I am much more dangerous than then." She shifted her position to raise her bow – already armed with an arrow that had been dipped a poison of sorts – and let the arrow thud into the back of the slumbering bear's head. "Perhaps you should go on ahead. Wouldn't want to add another _innocent _soldier to my list of killings."

His brow furrowed. "You said you wouldn't kill me."

"You shouldn't trust the word of an assassin," she sneered and pushed herself off of the column, trotting across a natural bridge to the bear's body.

Ralof decided against following her, choosing to watch the halfbreed's smooth movements as she tugged the arrow from the bear's head and returned it to her quiver. He was unsure as to whether the assassin now meant to kill him or had yet to decide. He was also unsure as to why he was still even standing there watching his maybe-killer.

Turning to make his way further into the system of caves he heard the sound of bones snapping followed by a feminine cry of pain and arrows clattering to the ground. "Sara?" His grip on his sword tightened as he glanced over his shoulder to the last place he'd seen the halfbreed. A drop of fear chilled his blood.

The halfbreed had fallen to her knees with her forehead pressed against the ground and arms clutched tight around her midsection. Her entire body shook violently, and he watched in horror as her left arm bent itself backwards, snapping loudly. "Sara?" he called again.

She glared up at him through her hair, blue eyes tinted with a yellow glow. "Run," she groaned. "Get out of here now!" Another bone cracked loudly and she whimpered pitifully.

A small part of him wanted to stay but it was easily outweighed by the other part that demanded he get out of the caves _now_. He didn't look back once as he started for the twisting tunnel that left the open cavern. The sound of whistling wind rushed through the tunnel and he could see light filtering through from further ahead.

"Wonder if Jarl Ulfric made it out, or any of the others," Ralof murmured to himself as he picked his way through the tunnel.

A growl stopped him, nearly sending him plunging towards the uneven ground. He whirled around with his sword raised and other hand scrabbling for a handhold on the wall. _Surely a wolf couldn't have been surviving in this cave alongside that bear? _

Gingerly he took a step away from the exit of the cave system, back towards where he'd left the halfbreed assassin. Another growl – louder and nearer – echoed through the tunnel. _No need to be worried, dealt with plenty of wolves in my time. _

In an instant he found himself brushed roughly against one side of the tunnel, his breath rushing out of his lungs in one big gust as a dark shape pounded past; a shape so big it blocked out the small sliver of light. Absently Ralof wondered how it was going to get out through the small crack.

Stars danced before his eyes as his head spun rapidly. He clutched at it with two hands, grunting at the bruise he could already feel forming. "Maybe not a wolf. Another bear probably."

From outside the cave drifted the sounds of frantic shouting, steel sliding against steel, and throaty roars. His throbbing head couldn't thread together a thought particularly well whilst it was busy spinning in circles but he managed to come to the conclusion that whatever had knocked him aside must have met some soldiers or unfortunate travellers upon leaving the cave.

Yet again his sword had been knocked from his hand and the Stormcloak once again had to retrieve it from where it'd come to rest just inside the small crack which, his still spinning mind managed to pick up on, was larger than before.

By the time he managed to walk a couple of steps without tilting to one side, pick up his sword, and stumble out into the early evening air of outside the fighting that had been raging had stopped. Wide eyes observed a bloody scene.

A small squadron lay slaughtered, limbs ripped from bodies and tossed around. Puddles of scarlet liquid dappled the dirt path the cave opened out onto. Ralof swallowed nervously as he neared a decapitated body. He'd never witnessed a bear do this much damage in all his life. His foot nudged a discarded axe and he looked down, spying threads of fur coloured a very dark shade of brown.

The same growl he'd heard back in the tunnel rolled like thunder from behind him. Spinning around with his sword raised he felt the breath once again rush from his lungs. Paused in a stalking position atop the cave yellow eyes watching unblinkingly was the largest wolf Ralof had ever seen in his entire life.

Dark brown fur was soaked in the blood of the Imperials it had killed, and it ran its tongue over its bloodied muzzle. Curling its lips it revealed slightly yellowed teeth that still dripped with the liquid spilt from the Imperials. It was a massive creature, easily dwarfing him.

He shifted into a defensive stance. The wolf opened its jaw and let out a roar that shook even the trees, yellow eyes glaring holes into his stolen sword. He'd never dropped a sword quicker after he figured out what the wolf was warning him of.

It visibly relaxed, the fur on its neck resting flat once more, though it still remained poised in a stalking stance. A sudden thought came to mind. "Did…did you kill the assassin?"

The wolf's muzzle almost seemed to curl up into a cruel smile but otherwise it didn't move a muscle or offer any reply. "Of course you did. Don't seem like the type of animal to leave anyone alive."

It snorted and then it _moved_. Quicker than anything he'd seen it scaled the sheer rock side, joining him on the bloody ground before he could do so much as blink. He froze in place as it paced in circles around him growing steadily closer with each step. A low growl rumbled in its throat.

"Leaves no one alive," Ralof whispered, watching as the wolf came to a stop right in front of him. Its muzzle was the same height as his nose and that was with it resting on all four paws. He could only imagine how massive the creature could be if it walked on its hind-legs.

The breath it blew from its mouth reeked of blood and death. All Ralof could wait for was the beast to bite down on his head and crush the life from him. He'd face his death with his head held high, like a true Nord. There'd be no hanging his head or shutting his eyes.

It closed its unblinking yellow eyes and when it opened them they were no longer yellow.

They were a frosty blue.


End file.
